Maybe I need to shoot zombies

Ah, how can one feel sad on such a beautiful day? How is it possible to feel so low when nature is so high on life? My mood ricochets so fast I go dizzy; my heart expands and then tightens; my soul soars and then plummets, in freefall.
Is this the price one pays for being a writer; for living in one’s mind, in the imagination, so much? Does it leave dissatisfaction with the mundane world of everyday, of dust and dinner, of routine and responsibility?

I am struggling right now. I’ve had the contract for a project sitting on my desk now for the last five days. Last night I made myself sign it and felt a chill breeze of despond flutter the pages. What is the matter with me? Why does it feel such a big deal? It’s just a book. It’s just a job. It won’t even bear my name; nobody will know. Since when did I become so precious? It’s not even as though I have any great literature in me yearning to push itself into the world. Ah, maybe that is it. Maybe it’s the futility of it all. The nonsense of ego that craves attention. The foolishness of middle age. The sense that time is hurtling by and I’m being swept along with it.

Maybe, as I said yesterday, the sticking plaster over this festering sore is to get out the mind and into the body. Yesterday I punished myself with an hour of kettlebell class. It was tough; my muscles whimpered but it felt good. I slept for once. But still I couldn’t dream.

This morning it was yoga. Out in the air, on the grass, the sun beating down. I opened my eyes and gazed at the sky, so clear, so blue. Felt the earth under my body. Felt so strange, an insect Velcroed to the planet by gravity, a speck on a speck spinning in space. As we fell into pranayama, I fell into the sky, dropped away. Normally it feels good; normally the universe feels like a comforting place. Today it felt like I was spinning into a void.

‘Are you alright, Mum?’ said James later as I stood at the sink, washing up in a daze.
‘Of course I am, love,’ I replied.
‘You don’t seem it,’ he countered.
Oh hell. I try to keep my mood dips away from him, I really do. I guess I don’t always succeed.
‘When I feel low, I lose myself in a game,’ he said, patting my back as if I were the child, he the parent. ‘Black Ops is pretty good for that.’

Ah so. Maybe we all do it in different ways. Some with television or games; some with food and alcohol; some with pulp fiction; some with sport and exercise, with adrenalin or endorphins.

Maybe I just need to shoot me some zombies.

The Bonkers House is under attack

Warfare has erupted in the Bonkers House. Literal warfare, as in guns firing, grenades being lobbed, bombs detonating.
‘I’m going in!’
‘Cover me!’
‘Aaaghhhh’
James was given Call of Duty: Black Ops for his birthday. I know, I know – it’s an 18-certificate and I was deeply sceptical. Adrian, on the other hand, was typically blokeishly gung-ho about it.
‘It’s fine. His friends play this stuff. I’ve played this stuff.’ (er, once, at a mate’s in London when he was doubtless three sheets to the wind). ‘Anyhow, it’s legitimate killing in the Theatre of War. There’s no crime or rape or violence against women.’
Oh, so that’s alright then.
A few years back, when James first got into gaming, I spent hours trawling the Internet, convinced that gaming wasn’t good for children (or adults, come to that) – that there had to be side-effects. Weirdly, and annoyingly, I came up with very little. In fact, evidence seemed to point to the contrary – that gaming could help children with hand to eye coordination, with brain development and with a host of skills. More recently researchers have taken another look and observed that violent video games do fire up the area of the brain connected with aggression. But, interestingly, they didn’t find a correlation with real-life violence.

I suppose that is mildly reassuring but James’ behaviour definitely changes when he plays Black Ops. He becomes surly, irritable and downright stroppy. So, this Christmas, we’ll be waving bye-bye to body counts and bazookas and getting out the board games instead.

I know, I know (inner groan time). If we’re honest, we’ve (nearly) all let the games console play babysitter. And yes, traditional games take time and effort on the part of parents. But, come on guys, it’s Christmas! Once I get going (yes, okay, sloe gin or a large slug of Midori helps), I do rather enjoy some of these.

Articulate: A friend bought us this a few Christmasses back and it is, quite honestly, hilarious. The key is inter-generational play. It says 12+ on the box and younger children won’t know all the answers but team them up with adults (and preferably confused grandparents) and it’s a hoot. Actually I have nearly wet myself with laughter playing this.

Perudo: This is a South American game of ‘Liars Dice’. It’s a mix of guesswork, bluff and luck. Incredibly simple and the best thing is that you don’t need hordes of people: just two can play or up to six. Not really my cup of tea but James loves it. 8+

Don’t Say It! This is a little cracker – encourages children to think and expand vocabulary but equally tantalisingly tough for adults. You have to describe an object without using the obvious words (ie describe a balloon without saying ‘pop’, ‘blow’ or ‘float’... It's another one that will get grandparents' knickers in a right old twist.  6+

Urban Myth: This is a bit like QI mixed with Trivial Pursuit. Can you tell the difference between fact and modern folklore? Did Marilyn Monroe wear a size 16 dress? Are there really alligators living in the New York sewers? 12+ for this one but, like Articulate, I reckon it’s fine for younger children teamed with adults.

Tyrannosaurus Rex: I really really REALLY hate board games (can't abide Monopoly, feel physically sick at the thought of Cluedo) but I can tolerate this one (mainly because it doesn’t last forever). You race round the board, trying to keep out the way of the dreaded T-Rex. James loved this one when he was younger.. 6+ (and can be played with as few as two of you if, like us, you’re a small and imperfectly formed family).

Twister: Another classic and a good ‘un for small children (as well as the inevitable teen parties). Word of warning – not one to play with elderly grannies. Just trust me on this. The emergency services are always overstretched at this time of year.  This says 6+ on the box but just go for it (very small limbs will struggle but hey, it encourages flexibility!). My brother bent me into knots when I was four and it hasn't done me any harm... *hmm*

Any I’ve missed? Any crackers you’d like to add on?  

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